Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery)

by Karen Rose Smith

  They both looked toward Joe. Some of the dinner guests were starting to leave.

  Bella said, “Oh, my gosh. There’s Lauren Jacobs. I haven’t seen her in years.”

  Caprice knew exactly who Lauren Jacobs was. She was the woman Bob had slept with while he was dating Bella.

  “You don’t see her when you go to the mall?” Lauren was the manager of a shoe store there—The Shoe Tree.

  “I never go into that store,” Bella explained. “Not that I hold a grudge. Not after all these years. But it’s still awkward seeing her. She and I never really knew each other. She was ahead of me in high school.”

  Caprice nodded as she watched Lauren pass from the ballroom to the reception area. “Do you think she and Bob were still friends?”

  Bella shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Since Caprice was having trouble finding any true friends of Bob’s, she put Lauren Jacobs at the top of her list. She just might have to make a visit to the mall tomorrow.

  The Shoe Tree had an expansive display in the front windows, purses hanging to one side, colorful socks on the other. But basically, it was a do-it-yourself warehouse. Shelves with stacks of boxes lined the aisles, and customers pulled out the style and tried on the shoe that might suit them. Clerks checked the aisles to help, but they mostly went to the back to find an odd size rather than really helping fit a shoe to a foot.

  Nana often told Caprice she shouldn’t buy shoes in a place like this. She should go to the little store in the oldest part of Kismet where the smell of real leather wasn’t just a memory. But Caprice liked fashionable shoes as much as the next woman. She also didn’t want to pay an exorbitant amount for an odd color to go with a specific outfit. So she was a customer of The Shoe Tree at least once a season.

  She’d arrived here early on purpose this morning, knowing the store wouldn’t be well populated yet. Business always picked up toward afternoon.

  When Caprice walked into The Shoe Tree, she didn’t see anyone around. But then she heard a clatter along one of the side shelves, and she walked that way. She was pleased to see Lauren herself, unboxing several shoe designs and arranging the shoes on the top shelf.

  Caprice said, “Excuse me.”

  Lauren swung around as if she hadn’t heard Caprice approach. She put her hand over her heart and looked totally startled. “I didn’t know anyone had come in. I didn’t hear the bell,” the auburn-haired woman said.

  Another redhead. Bob seemed to like red hair on his women. But then she thought about Bella. Maybe he didn’t have a preference at all. Maybe he just liked women in general.

  “I’m sorry if I surprised you.”

  Lauren tilted her head and studied her. “Don’t I know you?”

  “Caprice De Luca.”

  Lauren nodded slowly. “Oh, yes, Bella’s sister. Can I help you with something? My clerk is supposed to be handling the cash register, but she had car trouble this morning, so she’s late. Is there a particular style of shoe you’re interested in?”

  “I’m not interested in shoes, at least not today.”

  Lauren looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “I wondered if you were still friends with Bob Preston when he died.”

  Lauren’s chin quivered. “I can’t get Bob off my mind,” she said. “But why do you need to know if we were friends?”

  “Bob didn’t seem to have many real friends. My sister, Bella, found him after he was murdered. I’m just trying to figure out what might have happened, who might have had a grudge against him. Were you friends?”

  “I liked to think we were.”

  “Did you see him often?”

  “We ran into each other now and then at the Koffee Klatch. We had lunch together every couple of months. All those years ago, we weren’t involved very long romantically, but we gravitated back to each other now and then, if you know what I mean.”

  Oh, yes, Caprice knew what she meant. Two people who’d been intimate had a familiarity that could be comfortable. When they were lonely, they sought each other out, or they sought comfort any way they could.

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “A few days before he died. We had coffee. He’d called me because . . .” She stopped, as if maybe she didn’t know if she should go on.

  Obviously, Lauren was looking for a good reason to spill what she knew. “The truth is, the police are looking at my sister for the murder. I’d like to give them other viable suspects. Anything you can tell me will help.”

  After a pensive pause, Lauren said, “Originally Bob called me because he was excited about a new business venture. He’d developed an app for smartphones that had something to do with a contract with a painting company and a home-improvement chain. He was all excited about it. He told me about that, but then he told me something else, too. He’d been out of town recently.”

  Maybe Lauren knew where Bob had been when Caprice had had to call Monty to come in and take over for him. “I knew he was out of town, but I didn’t know where he went. He reneged on a painting job for me, and that was unlike him.”

  “I’m not sure where he went. He didn’t say. But he did say he’d found family that he never knew he had.”

  “Close family?”

  “I’m not sure. I got the feeling that it was still all new, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. He got a call that cut our conversation short. I don’t know who called him, but it was something about signing papers. He left and . . . I never saw him again.”

  Those papers could have had to do with a painting contract, or something to do with his company. Signing papers was a nebulous clue. Finding family he didn’t know he had wasn’t so nebulous.

  Just who had unexpectedly dropped into Bob’s life?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You have to come over right away,” Ace had said when he phoned Caprice Sunday afternoon. “There’s a problem and only you can fix it.”

  So Caprice had zoomed over to Ace’s. Mrs. Wannamaker let her in and told her to go right upstairs.

  From the landing, Caprice could hear a shrill young voice. “I hate it! Dad, I can’t believe you did this.”

  Ace’s daughter ran from the pink-ruffled room, passed Caprice, and clomped down the stairs, platform sandals clacking on beautiful hardwood.

  Ace called after her, looking woebegone. “Trista. It’s pretty.”

  His eleven-year-old yelled back, “It’s not me. It’s for a little girl. I’m almost a teenager!”

  So much for being on the mark with this decorating venture!

  When Ace spotted Caprice, he looked defeated. “I know this isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I’ll be right back.” He went down the stairs after his daughter.

  This was her fault. She hadn’t pushed Ace away from a concept that had bothered her from its inception. Pink ruffles suited a four-year-old, not an eleven-year-old.

  Caprice went into the room she’d decorated for the daughter that Ace thought he knew. Apparently, he didn’t. Caprice should have insisted on a call to Trista, or an e-mail, or something. Yes, there were home-improvement shows that surprised house owners with brand-new living rooms, or made-over family rooms, or a functional office. But Caprice understood the truth. Most people, children included, knew exactly what they wanted, and they didn’t like their ideas tampered with. If you brought in colors that weren’t favorites or made them cringe, they could pretend to be happy, but they wouldn’t spend any time in the room. She was experienced enough to know that.

  So why had she let Ace convince her that he knew what was best for his daughter?

  Because he was a celebrity, and she didn’t want to push back? Because he’d been complimentary and she’d wanted him to think well of her? Back to her parochial school training. Not asking the important questions. Not looking behind pat answers. Trying to be the good girl.

  Caprice wandered around the room. The cream carpet could go with anything. Thank goodness, they’d decided not to go with the
wallpaper with lines of pink roses that Ace had thought Trista would like. But Caprice guessed the pale pink walls would have to go too—overnight. This was going to be a rapid redo.

  She took her phone from her pocket and speed-dialed Juan. He answered on the second ring.

  “You called?” he joked.

  “I need to redo a room quickly.”

  “How quickly?”

  “Yesterday. Are you free this evening?”

  “You do like to mess up a guy’s plans, don’t you?”

  “Hot date?”

  “A date. I don’t know how hot. Not hot at all now if I’m not going to be there. Do you want me to call Monty?”

  She heard Ace and Trista climbing the stairs again. “You call him and see if he’s available. In the meantime, I’m going to talk to my actual client and find out what she wants. Hopefully we can pull this off fast.”

  “Charge him extra.”

  “It’s my fault, too. I should have known better.”

  Juan hummed a few bars of that Beatles song.

  Caprice shook her head and ended the call.

  Ace’s daughter looked sullen and defiant as she stepped into the bedroom. She was a pretty girl and would be a striking teenager. Tall and lanky, she didn’t seem quite comfortable with those long legs and nice shoulders. She took after her dad, not only in his lean lankiness, but also in her long face, her chestnut hair, her very green eyes.

  “Trista, this is Miss De Luca. She decorated your room, but I told her what to do.”

  Caprice contradicted him. “This is my fault, Trista, as much as his. He might be paying the bill, but you are my client.”

  Her honesty seemed to surprise the pre-teen. Caprice went on, “I think you and I need a little one-on-one time.” She was pretty sure Ace and his daughter needed one-on-one time too, but that would have to come later.

  “What are we going to do?” Trista asked. “The room’s finished.”

  “A room is never finished, and I might be able to work some quick magic. But we need to have a serious discussion first. Come on, let’s sit.”

  They sat in two puffy, pink bedroom chairs that were positioned catty-corner to each other at the window. Caprice had her electronic tablet with her, and she took it out and put it on her lap.

  “Should I stay or go?” Ace grumbled from the doorway.

  Immediately Trista said, “Go, Dad. Let us get this right.”

  But Caprice wasn’t so dismissive. “I might need your help, and I might need your okay on what I want to do. So can you stay close? As soon as Trista and I finish, you and I have to talk.”

  Ace cast his gaze one last time at his daughter and left the room, looking as if he’d failed.

  “Let’s talk. How’s your room at home decorated?”

  “Mom did a lot of that, so it’s not all what I want, either.”

  “What did you do to your room to make it yours?”

  “I put horse posters all over the walls. I love riding. I like the outdoors. You know, swimming in the lake, fishing, that kind of thing.”

  “Does your dad know?”

  “He knows I swim in the lake, but fishing . . . probably not. He’s not the fishing type. He can’t sit still for two seconds.”

  Caprice smiled. “He might, if he knows you’d like to do it. He can always write songs while you’re waiting for fish to bite.”

  Trista thought about that. “Maybe.”

  “So what’s your favorite color?”

  “Green.”

  “Green, like lime green? Or green like grass green or pine green?”

  “I guess there are a lot of colors of green. Grass green.”

  “In other words, you like natural colors.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “My guess is your dad would like to do something more special for you than horse posters on the wall.”

  “Yeah, but that’s what I like.”

  “You like horses, but they don’t have to be on posters, do they?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Did you see the pool house?”

  “Yeah. Those dolphins are cool.”

  Ah ha. Progress. “I commissioned the artist who painted them. Now I don’t know if it’s possible, or if he’s available, or if he can do it in one day, but what would you think about him painting a horse on your wall?”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Caprice woke up her tablet, put a few words in the search engine, searched, tapped a few times, then placed the tablet in front of Trista. “Let’s talk furniture.”

  “No canopy bed,” the preteen said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t like all that frou-frou around me. I don’t like something on top of my head. I just want a plain bed.”

  Caprice really did smile this time. “Does it have to be wood, or would you like brass?” She tapped a picture. “Or . . .” Caprice typed in the name of a specialty company she used sometimes, found what she was looking for, and showed the page to Trista. “How about an old barn door for your headboard? If they have one available, I can probably get it here in a day or two.” The right amount of money could buy almost anything . . . or any service.

  “Oh my gosh! That would be so cool.”

  Thank goodness the windows in the room were standard size. Caprice thought about what kind of curtains or drapes she could find on short notice. There was a specialty shop in York that stocked something Trista might like.

  “Instead of standard curtains at your windows, I think I can find something lighter, like scarves we can swirl around a rod, or swaggy valances that come just three-quarters of the way down. And how about a quilt for your bed? Maybe patchwork with lots of colors.”

  “I think I’m going to like my room.”

  At that, Caprice laughed out loud. “That’s the whole idea.”

  Trista glanced at the ruffled bedspread. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Lots of little girls would love it. I’ll see what your dad wants to do. I can try to return it, or if he’s willing, he can donate it to a second-hand furniture store and somebody who really needs it can buy it for a good price.”

  “Do you think I should have told him I liked it?” Trista screwed up her face as if that were a terrible idea.

  “You have to be honest with your dad.”

  “We don’t have much time together, and when we do, I don’t like to make waves. But this . . .” She waved around the room. “It was awful for me.”

  “You’re going to have a week with your dad now, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him what you like. Tell him how much you like horses. And definitely tell him about the fishing.”

  “He’ll think I’m a bumpkin. He’s into rock and glitz and parties.”

  “Is he really? Or is that what’s in the tabloids all the time?” She knew there was a difference between publicity, public relations, and real life.

  “You don’t think he parties all the time?”

  “I don’t know your dad well, Trista, but if you have questions, ask them.”

  “Can you ask your dad anything?”

  “Mostly I can, but it takes practice. Once you start asking a few questions, the next ones won’t be so hard.”

  At least they wouldn’t be for Trista. She didn’t know how Ace would like answering them, but he might as well get into the rhythm of it if he wanted a real relationship with his daughter, especially as she grew into her teenage years.

  “Now I have to talk to your dad about all this.”

  “You mean how much it’s going to cost.”

  “The cost, but also about deliveries, and when he’s going to be here, and how much I can get done right away.”

  “You’re going to start now?”

  “I sure am. My assistant’s on call.”

  “You like what you do, don’t you?”

  “I do. Especially when I get it right.”

  For the next couple of hours, Caprice called Danny, phoned other cont
acts, prepared a list for Juan, and gathered up bedding. Juan’s list consisted of items he could pick up in the storage unit and bring right over. She’d stored a stained-glass lamp she suspected would fit the new decor, a swan-armed rocker she’d had reupholstered in a pretty plaid fabric in yellow and taupe, a wooden coatrack that would be practical for a girl Trista’s age. She could hang her backpack on there, a pair of jeans she didn’t feel like hanging up, her purse, her belt, or something decorative. They’d figure that out when more of the room was finished. If she remembered correctly, she had a two-tiered hobnail milk-glass light that would be perfect for a nightstand. Nightstands. She’d do some searching online for those. This room would come together and come together before Ace’s pool party. In the morning, Juan and Monty would disassemble the bed and move furniture in and out. She was just about to find Ace and tell him she’d done as much as she could for tonight when her phone played.

  She thought it might be Nikki, checking in on her. However, instead of Nikki’s number, she saw Seth’s and smiled. “Hi,” she said brightly, even though she was tired after the long day.

  “Hi. I just got finished my shift. Are you home?”

  “No, but I will be in about an hour. Why?”

  “I’d like to stop over.”

  Cherry on the Top closed at ten, and it was after ten. “All right. I’ll see you at my place in an hour.”

  “Caprice?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I’ll see you at your place.”

  Caprice didn’t like that somber note in Seth’s voice. She didn’t like it at all.

  Caprice was ready when Seth arrived. Ready, in that she’d brewed a pot of choco-mocha coffee and placed a few biscotti from a new batch she’d baked yesterday on a yellow plate. She thought about icing the coffee, but she could do that if that’s what Seth wanted.

  Shasta had made herself comfortable by the sofa. Although she barked when she was alerted by Seth on the steps outside, she didn’t get up. Caprice wondered how near labor she was. A few days? A week? It was hard to know. But she’d be taking her to Marcus for a checkup tomorrow.

  Sophia lounged on the top perch of the cat tree, her tail and front paw hanging over the side. She might get up for a stroll around the house before bed, but this was as active as she got on a hot summer night, air-conditioning or not.